


Healing Touches

by SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Concerned Lancelot, Concerned Pym, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death, Sick Character, Sickfic, Worried Gawain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight/pseuds/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight
Summary: While Lancelot is away Percival falls deathly ill. There is nothing Gawain can do to save him.
Relationships: Gawain | The Green Knight & Nimue & Pym & Squirrel | Percival (Cursed), Gawain | The Green Knight & Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Gawain | The Green Knight & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Squirrel - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Netflix's Cursed - Monthly prompts picked by a cursed bot!





	Healing Touches

**Author's Note:**

> So I know the prompt was healing touches, but this ended up being more singular touch. Still, I hope it counts. I hope you can all enjoy. I feel a little bad about writing this one.

Gawain and Percival see Lancelot off. It’s almost a ritual between the three of them. Whoever is not on the mission sees the others off, day or night, rain or shine. They are, for all intents and purposes a family, and all each other has. Plus Pym, but she spends much of her time with the Red spear and her Raiders and in the medical tents, learning. Today is no different, Pym sees him off with basic medical supplies, kisses his cheek, wishes him luck and returns to her tent. Lancelot thanks her with a smile and tucks the supplies into his saddle bag. Percvial hugs him tight, tells him he has to come back or he’ll track him down and haul him back by his ass and scream at him till his ears are bloody. Lancelot laughs, hugs him tightly and responds, I’ll miss you too. Gawain looks at him meaningfully, their goodbyes said in the confines of their tent, shared between their bedsheets, steps forward and embarrassed him, whispers in his ear. Lancelot responds in kind, eyes soft and understanding. Its starting to rain again, as it has been all week and likely will continue to do, as Lancelot mounts Goliath and joins the rest of the party. They have orders to follow. 

With a sighs and a frown Gawain returns to the camp proper. While he would love to sit vigil with Percival, watch Lancelot and the others disappear from sight, he has duties to attend to. He is Sir Gawain, Green Knight of the Fey, Adviser to Nimue The Wolf Blood Witch, Queen of the Fey, and he cannot afford to sit in the rain and worry for his lover. They are both warriors and it will do little to help bring this war to an end. Instead he pushes away his concern and begins his rounds, leaves Percival to watch. The boy will rejoin him when he is ready, he always does. Percival takes his duties as squire very seriously and Gawain commends him for it, but the boy is still only that, a boy. Percival rejoins him around noon and they continue their rounds, helping where they can, hearing the needs and wants of the people. They help dig trenches to keep the water flowing away from the main parts of camp. Winter will be upon them soon and it is important to prepare everything they can beforehand. 

Two days later Percival starts coughing. Gawain doesn’t think much of it, catching a cold this late in the autumn is hardly a surprise. He sends him to Pym for herbs to help with his cough. Percival goes dutifully and keeps up with Gawain the rest of the day, and the day after. On the third day, Gawain notes that Percival looks ill, tells him to stay in bed and rest. He’s no good to anyone sick or spreading the germs around. Percival doesn’t argue just lays back down and sleeps. And sleeps. And sleeps. Gawain and Pym check on him throughout the day. The only time he wakes is to cough, to eat, and to relieve himself. They agree it is only a cold caused by being in the rain and cold so much and do what they can to make him comfortable.

After a week though, his symptoms have worsened and show no signs of improving. Concern wiggles it’s way into the cracks of his armor, like ivy into fortresses. Gawain sits beside Percivals bed and wrings out a cloth, wetting it with cool water as he places it on his forehead. Fever sweat glistens over his skin, and chills convulse his body more violently than shivers. His teeth chatter and then they stop. He listens for his breathing, it stops on occasion for a moment, and then starts again and the instance of silence puts Gawain on edge. Percival has no appetite what-so-ever and barely wakes at all. When he does he suffers severe coughing fits that cause him to vomit, choking on lack of air and gasping, disoriented he asks after Lancelot. Gawain lies. There has been no word from the party and they were to be back the day before last.

Another week goes by and Gawain refuses to leave Percivals side. His duties can wait, Kaze, Korin, Mithela, they take over, cover for him. Check in on Percival and run questions by him, but none of them ask him to leave the boys side. Nimue has tried to heal him, but with no success. None of the medicine in camp has done more than make him comfortable or make him sleep. Now his body is too weak to do anything but sleep. Percival can barely keep his eyes open. Can barely form words. He is lethargic. Thin. His skin the color of corpses and waxy too. Gawain holds his frail hand in his own strong one, watches as he nears the edges of the river Styx. He growls at Morgana when she comes, the woman holds her hands up defensively, assures him she hasn’t come for the boy. Not yet anyways. Gawain tells her to get out. Not to come back. She obeys. 

He wakes to light footfalls on the floor three days later. His neck and back ache from being slumped in his chair. When he looks up too tired to do much more, blue eyes meet him. Lancelot is soaked to the bone, the rain turning to snow this last week melting on his cloak as he stands there face contorted with a deep frown. They do nothing more than stare at one another for a long moment and then Gawain breaks. The tears he has been trying not to shed for his son and his lover both breaching the surface of carefully constructed walls. Lancelot shrugs off his cloak and belts and pulls Gawain silently against his chest. They go to the floor back to Percivals bed and stay there until the sun comes up. It's the only comfort Lancelot can give him. His own heart weighs heavy in his chest with concern for Percival. 

When Lancelot tells Gawain to go to bed, to sleep, that he’ll watch over Percival, Gawain does as he's told. He knows Lancelot must be exhausted from his own trip due to the delays he still knows nothing about but he can’t shake the weariness that settles in him, around him. He lays back in his bed and sleeps. It is not a good sleep. It is full of dreams and nightmares and a thousand ways Percival, Lancelot, Pym, Nimue, Kaze - his friends die. He sits upright in his bed, breath coming harshly as he wipes sweat from his brow. He peels off his damp, sticky drenched shirt and slips out of bed. He pads anxiously around his tent before dressing and going to see Percival. The sun is high in the sky, and he isn’t sure how long he slept, but he can't help the smile that caresses his face when he enters Squirrels tent. 

Lancelot is curled around the boy as though his body can shield him from whatever illness has gripped him. He holds the boy close, tucked against his chest, wrapped firmly in his arms, nose tucked against his hair. Deliberately Gawain closes the distance between them in silence and resumes his vigil in the old, well worn, chair beside his bed. When he wakes again early morning light fills the tent. He blinks sleep from his eyes and then blinks again in disbelief. Lancelot is sitting up on Squirrels bed and sitting up beside him, pressed into his chest is Percival, awake. He looks exhausted, they all do, but he is awake and speaking slowly to Lancelot who speaks quietly back. Neither seem to be aware that he is there, or at least that he is awake. But he doesn’t care. His family is here. HIs family is alive. Pym sets a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, whispers, 

“He woke up an hour ago. Won’t let go of Lancelot. He said we should let you sleep. So we did.” She smiles and joins them on the bed, hands Percival a cup of something medicinal, and both Lancelot and Squirrel wrinkle their noses and the boy tries to push it away. 

“You’ll drink it.” He says, voice hoarse as he locks eyes with his son. 

“Yes Papa.” Percival sighs defeated. 

Lancelot smiles at him, holds out his hand to him. Instinctively he stands, takes it and moves to sit on Percivals other side. For all the blood on Lancelot's hands, it was his touch that seems to have brought Percival back and Gawain promises himself that he will cherish them always as he locks their fingers together behind Percival, supporting his weight between them. There is nowhere else in this world he would rather be, he thinks stretching out a hand to include Pym, than welcoming his family home.


End file.
